Blood
by Kat-Knife
Summary: I sit on the toilet of the cheap, dingy pub that I dashed into when I started feeling the pains. I convulse as another wave of agony rips through my abdomen. A story of loss, told from the point of view of Molly Weasley. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition round 5.


I sit on the toilet of the cheap, dingy pub that I dashed into when I started feeling the pains. I convulse as another wave of agony rips through my abdomen. Scarlet-red blood spills down between my legs to land with a sick plop into the toilet. I feel numb, cold, as if I'm made out of ice. I can literally feel her life slowly ebbing out of my body and I know that there is nothing, absolutely nothing that I can do for her.

If only I hadn't been so stubborn; if only I'd listened to Arthur when he told me to relax and not over exert myself. If only...

A wild, keening, wailing sound punctuates my nightmare. I look around the tiny bathroom stall to see where it's coming from, only to realize that it's coming from me. A choked sob escapes from my parched throat and past my cracked, dry lips as the gate of tears is unleashed. I scream in frustration as salty tears slip down my ice-cold face.

"WHY, why?!" I scream in wordless grievance, my sweaty, matted, red hair hanging in front of my face like a blanket to shield me from the horrors of the world.

Everything had been going so well...Arthur had gotten his new job at the Ministry...Percy had learned his ABC's...Charlie had received the Dragon Encyclopedia that he had been clamoring to get...Bill had learned to fly on his new, second-hand broom...I had received the best gift of all, the news that I was pregnant with a beautiful, baby girl.

"What will I tell Arthur?" I think out loud in horror, "What if-what if he blames me for her death? Because he would be right to do so. I killed her. I killed our would be daughter in cold-blood."

Arthur had been so excited at the prospect of having another child. Doubly excited at the thought of having a girl.

I can already imagine his face when I tell him the news. At first the news won't sink in, then his face will turn blank, slack, and finally his expression will morph into one of utmost fury. He'll point to me and condemn me for the death of our child. He'll look at me with an expression of utmost disgust and loathing and I'll deserve it. I'll deserve it all, his disgust, his loathing, because I'm a monster. The worst kind of monster.

My tears have all dried up know. I know what I have to do. I have to go home and face my fears. I have to tell Arthur the truth. He deserves the truth and I deserve to be punished for my crime.

I shakily stand up on wobbly feet, holding onto the sides of the bathroom stall for support. As soon as I stand up, I can feel the nausea overcome me and I bend unsteadily and dry heave, gagging bile. As soon as the spell passes, I try to stand up straight again, only to be distracted by the sound of blood dripping, dripping from between my legs onto the dirty, grimy floor of the bathroom stall. I feel paralyzed, like I can't think, much less move. I turn my head to the side, only for my senses to be assaulted by the coppery smell of blood and death that emanates from the toilet.

I have to get out of here. I can't stay here, not surrounded by death. I have to leave, now. I turn my head away from the toilet and towards the bathroom stall door. With shaky hands, I fix my panties and skirt, all the while ignoring the vicious pounding in my head.

I take out my wand from the inside picket of my clothes and concentrate with all my might before apparating with a weak pop to the Burrow. I land unsteadily on our doorstep and almost fall flat against the door. It's almost dinner time, I know that Arthur must be home already, he has probably already fed the boys and sent them ahead to bed. With shaking fingers, I open the door to our house and awkwardly maneuver my way inside. I walk into the kitchen and see Arthur resting his head against the table, his food untouched, most probably waiting for me to get home so that we can eat dinner together.

The need to cry threatens to overwhelm me, but I manage to utter one word before I totally break down, "Arthur..."

His head snaps up from the table in greeting, a ready smile on his lips. His smile quickly dies as he sees me standing in the doorway. He hurriedly stands up from the table, toppling his chair and runs to my side. I sway and almost fall to the ground, only to be caught in Arthur's strong embrace.

I can hear him frantically asking me what's wrong, if I'm hurt, if the baby's hurt.

"She's gone." I tell him emotionlessly, bracing myself for when he releases me and the loathing in his eyes forms. Instead of releasing me, he grips me tightly to himself, my face nestled into his neck, which smells faintly of peppermint aftershave.

"What do you mean?" he croaks out, sounding shocked beyond belief.

"The baby Arthur, she's gone. I killed her." I whisper out, suddenly incredibly tired.

"What?" He whispers out harshly, "What do you mean by that?"

"I had a miscarriage." I tell him, "I killed her. If only I'd listened to you when you told me not to overtax myself, she might still be alive. She's gone Arthur. She's gone..." I trail off, shutting my eyes and nestling further into the warmth if Arthur's neck, not wanting to let go and see the furious expression on his face that I know must be forming.

"No," he whispers out, "I'm so sorry Molly. I'm so sorry."

He further tightens his hold on me, rubbing my back and murmuring soothing, meaningless words into my ear.

I put my hands against his chest and push him away harshly.

"How can you still be here?!" I yell in disbelief, "I killed her! I killed our innocent, baby girl! Why don't you hate me?"

I pound my fists into his chest, dissolving into another, fresh round of tears.

"I could never hate you Molly." he breathes out, capturing my small hands in his large ones, "This was not your fault. We-unfortunately, we were just not meant to have her. I love you and that's never going to change Mollywobbles."

As we sit there on the kitchen floor, grieving for the daughter that we could have had, I realize something which that I'd always instinctively known but never articulated; this was it, Arthur was it, I would have children with him, grow old with him and he would _always_ love me unconditionally.


End file.
